


(untitled no. 4)

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I literally stalled on posting this for three days because I could not come up with a title. I STILL CAN'T COME UP WITH ONE but have the damn thing anyway, omg.</p>
    </blockquote>





	(untitled no. 4)

**Author's Note:**

> I literally stalled on posting this for three days because I could not come up with a title. I STILL CAN'T COME UP WITH ONE but have the damn thing anyway, omg.

Drift shifted comfortably in the warm haze just under consciousness. His dream had been -- mm… He shifted again, felt the lazy flirt of fingertips between his legs. Oh… yes. Drift smiled. Within moments, he’d moved again, opening his legs, and he felt the hand respond accordingly, sweeping bold touches to the heating panel, palming it, enticing with every familiar touch.

Drift squirmed and gasped, “Ratchet…”, backstruts arching. He kept his optics shuttered, even when he released that panel under the urging of the fingers playing between his spread thighs.

Another gasp as two fingers pressed into his valve, touching all the right places to make Drift squirm and rock his hips with the steady, lazy thrusts of two -- now three -- digits. He moaned the medic’s name again, one of his hands fisting in the previously discarded thermal blanket. “Oh--!”

Drift bit his lip against a high whine as he felt himself get closer, his charge mounting higher… Backstruts bowed off the berth as overload pulsed through his systems, drawing out another low moan as his valve clenched around the fingers buried within it.

Finally he onlined his optis, vents whirring as he stared up at the ceiling. The familiar hum of his shuttle’s autopiloted engines greeted him as he slipped his hand from between his legs and sighed, resting a hand half-covered in lubricant on his abdominal plating. Drift chewed at his lower lip, feeling a dig in his spark. It had been a good dream, and a great fantasy, but he was long, long away from Ratchet now.

Space had never seemed so empty.

“Miss you,” he murmured to the empty air, shuttering his optics once again.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


End file.
